Enough Nerve
by JustAboutMidnight
Summary: Staying at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place the summer before her fifth year, Hermione discovers that an unlikely equation of musty close quarters, magical household pests, and unnecessary Apparition can lead to a most unexpected attraction...
1. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

" _Hermione!_ " whispered Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward. "Oh, it's so good to see you dear – and you, Kingsley –"

"Hello, Molly."

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione gasped back, feeling her ribs protest as Mrs. Weasley hugged her very tightly. "Where's –"

" _Shh!_ " Mrs. Weasley intoned anxiously. "I'm sorry, dear, but we have to be careful in this hallway... Kinglsey, would you stay for a spot of stew? We've all just eaten but I'd be happy make you a quick little something..."

"No, thanks, Molly," Kingsley murmured. "I've got to get back... take care."

"Be careful!"

"Bye, Kingsley, and thanks."

Kingsley winked and slipped out the front door, which shut behind him with a soft snap.

"Well, come on then, dear," Mrs. Weasley whispered, and started down the hallway. Hoisting the strap of her bag a little higher on her shoulder and tucking Crookshanks more securely under her arm, Hermione followed.

The hall they were walking along was dark and musty, with stained silver silk on the walls and rows of dusty portraits. The carpet was thin and worn, and the floorboards underneath creaked as they crossed them. Hermione wrinkled her nose – the chandelier, the ceiling, and the candles on the wall were all covered with a rather thick coating of cobwebs.

"Come on, you'll be staying in one of the rooms we've already cleaned out, up here..."

They mounted a staircase and began to climb. Hermione started to examine what looked like a row of sculptures on the wall but quickly recoiled in horror.

"Mrs. Weasley! Are those –?"

"Yes, they're house-elves. Unsavory, isn't it?"

"But that's terrible!" Hermione whispered, her hand over her mouth. "That's dreadful..."

"Yes I know, but don't stop, come on, just a bit farther..."

"What _is_ this place?"

"It's Sirius's. Left for him by his lovely family. Don't worry, we're trying to make it habitable again, you'll see."

They had come out onto the second landing.

"Here you are, this one here. Ron's on the other side of the landing. Do you need any help getting settled in?"

"No, thank you, I'll be fine, I think."

"Alright, dear. Well, it's late, you should get to bed. Arthur and I are staying on the first floor, so I'll say goodnight."

"Goodnight Mrs. Weasley. And thank you."

Mrs. Weasley gave her a fond smile, her face a little drawn, before disappearing down the stairs.

Hermione stepped into her room and set her bag gingerly on the carpet. The room bore the look of having recently been cleaned. The wooden top of the dresser gleamed dully, and someone had made a brave attempt at wiping down the chandelier, which some stubborn bits of cobweb and dust still clung to. Kneeling down, she unlatched Crookshanks' carrier. He came out stiffly, stretching his bandy legs and yawning, and she gave him a good scratch behind the ears before he broke away to curl up at the foot of the bed.

Hermione yawned too. It seemed like eons ago that she'd said goodbye to her parents that morning, and the day of traveling had taken its toll. She pulled open a dresser drawer and peeked inside. It looked safe enough, and now seemed as good a time as any to unpack. She pulled out a stack of robes, keen to be done so that she could sleep.

 _CRACK._

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Hermione shrieked and dropped her clothes, whipping around to find Fred and George beaming at her and bowing repeatedly. Crookshanks shot under the bed and hissed furiously.

"Charming, Hermione, charming to see you –"

"It's a delight, just a delight," said Fred, stepping over the robes to wring her hand earnestly.

"Gits," said a voice from the doorway, and Hermione turned to see Ron, looking grumpy but pleased. "Hi Hermione, how's your holiday been?"

"Great," she managed, massaging her chest. "Fred, George, don't _do_ that."

"You might as well get used to it now, they've been doing it all week," Ron said resentfully, striding across the room to drop down onto the bed. "The three of us were in my room and we heard you come up. As if crossing the hall is too strenuous. They're staying upstairs, anyway, not with me."

"Yes, well," Fred said, scooping up the robes and dusting them off, "we have to keep reminding you we're adults now, lest you forget, Ronald."

"Definitely," George agreed, closing the dresser drawer. "You don't want to put your stuff in there, Hermione, it's not quite... ah, safe yet."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well," said Fred, neatly rearranging the top layer of Hermione's bag, "this place is a bit of a dark dump, as you may have noticed. We've had a time of it trying to make it hospitable. Just wait until tomorrow, you'll see. Mum's been working us like house-elves."

"Yes," Hermione said in a rather high voice, "yes, I noticed the lovely décor downstairs."

"See, I told you she'd be upset," Ron told George. "Hermione, it's _tradition_. Wait until you meet the old one that lives here. Can't wait to be up on the wall with them. Gone 'round the bend."

"Ron!"

"He has, Hermione," said George wisely, sitting next to Ron. "Don't feel bad for him, you're not in for a warm reception. He's referred to the lot of us as 'blood traitors' ever since we got here, I don't imagine he's going to take to you any better."

"Well he's been taught to do that, I expect, it doesn't seem like the people in Sirius's family were very accepting wizards, does it?"

"Definitely not. But never mind that now, you'll meet Kreacher soon enough. Just don't stick your stuff in here, Hermione," Fred advised, leaning against the wall. "Just leave it in the suitcase. Or you can put it in ours if you really want to unpack."

"But what's wrong with mine?"

"Flesh-eating slugs. There was a whole great load of eggs in there when we got here. We cleaned them out, but Mum reckons that their, ah, _secretions_ probably soaked into the wood. Nasty stuff, you know. It'll dissolve whatever you put in there."

"Lovely."

"Yeah, and the whole place is like that," Ron said glumly. "No one's lived here for years. There are doxies everywhere and a bunch of the wardrobes and cabinets are rattling with whatever mad stuff Sirius's family put in them. Like Fred said, Mum's determined to get rid of the lot of it, but I dunno. If you ask me she's fighting a losing battle."

"Passes the time though, that's something," George said. He absently tugged a bit of string from his pocket and wound it around his fingers, humming something that sounded like a particularly jazzy number of the Weird Sisters.

"George, you want to be careful with that," Hermione said, hastily tugging Crookshanks out from under the bed, where his beady eyes had already lit upon the string. "He loves to play with that sort of rubbish, don't be surprised if he jumps at you."

"Rubbish?" said Fred in a wounded voice, hand over his heart. "That there is not rubbish, Hermione. That is the result of several months' hard work."

She looked at the string skeptically. It was a muted flesh color and seemed unremarkable aside from the length of it, which was becoming evident as George unraveled it from his pocket.

"Extendable Ears," said George.

"Bloody useful," said Ron.

"We've been breaking the rules, see," said Fred. "Eavesdropping on the Order," he explained, seeing Hermione's dubious expression. "They have all their meetings in the basement kitchen. Mum won't let us in on anything, it's been driving us mad. We've found out a couple of things with the good old Ears but we've got to be careful. Mum is still feeling quite anti-joke shop, you see."

"Well, she's got a point," Hermione said loftily, depositing Crookshanks back onto the floor. "The two of you could have gotten loads of O.W.L.s if you hadn't spent all your time focusing on flashy stuff, I expect."

"We'll see if you still think it's just flashy stuff when you've gotten to sit in undetected on a top-secret meeting," Fred said unconcernedly. "No, Ron's right, they're dead useful. You'll grow to appreciate us in due time, Hermione."

"Mm."

"He's right, Hermione," George said earnestly, pulling the ears back into his pocket. "We won't be able to give you a discount later on if you're going to take this kind of attitude now – _OI!_ "

Crookshanks had pounced, and George swore violently as the cat dug his claws into his leg. He jumped and swore even louder as Ron leapt from the bed to try and pull Crookshanks off, and Fred roared with laughter.

"Shut it, Fred!"

"She warned you, you know, you really can't complain."

"Crookshanks! No!"

"Stop laughing, you prat –" George winced as Hermione hurried forward and wrenched her cat off of his thigh. "Bloody hell, Hermione, he's a little menace –"

" _Little?_ " said Ron incredulously. "He almost took my head off in Magical Menagerie two summers ago –"

Fred chortled. "Yes, well, your head is still as intact as it's ever been, although I'm not sure that's saying much –"

"Fred!" Ron said furiously, "whose side are you on? He almost just mauled your brother –"

But George was already chuckling and gave Crookshanks a quick, forgiving pat in Hermione's arms after restoring the Ears fully to his pocket. "Just been cooped up too long? Ah, well, we can forget about it just this once..."

Crookshanks meowed in an irritable but apologetic sort of way.

"Anyways, Ron," Fred said, "I was under the impression you'd become rather fond of the fellow."

"I _am_ , but still, I'm with George, he can be a menace sometimes–"

"But to do it with charm, that's the trick, little brother. Take it from me."

"I still say Hermione's too soft with her pets, it makes them obstinate..."

"Explains how you and Harry have turned out then," Fred said while George snorted with laughter and Ron grinned at Hermione sheepishly. "Really, if we can't trust Hermione's judgement, we might as well all just give up now."

Hermione blushed and unclamped her arms from around Crookshanks, who sat down huffily at the foot of the bed once more.

"Here –" Fred stepped forward and waved his wand, and a fat spool of maroon string materialized in the air over the bed and dropped onto the comforter. "He can have a bit of fun with that. And maybe we ought to head to bed, you lot, seeing as Mum'll probably have us up at the crack of dawn tomorrow..."

Ron and George reluctantly agreed and stood, George gingerly massaging his leg but grinning all the same. He first made Crookshanks an elaborate salute, and then turned did the same for Hermione.

"Your servant."

Fred simply caught her eye and winked, and with a loud crack, the twins were gone.

Ron made his way across the room to the doorway and turned, staring wistfully at the place Fred and George had vanished. "Blimey, I can't wait until I'm seventeen..."

"Why?" Hermione scoffed. "So you can avoid taking one flight of stairs?"

"Yeah... and make things appear like _that_..." Ron snapped his fingers, still gazing dreamily at the bit of floorboard.

"I suppose," she sniffed, turning down the covers of the bed and tossing the string between Crookshanks' front paws. "Or you could look forward to doing something useful."

Ron just smiled and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Hermione. 'Night."

"Goodnight Ron."

He gave a small wave and shut her door with a click. She heard his footfalls cross the landing and enter his own room, clomping about as he got ready for bed.

It really was the most frivolous use of magic, Hermione reflected grumpily as she got out her own pajamas and pulled them on, the most ridiculous...

And yet she couldn't help but think with a smile as she fell into bed and turned out the light, listening to Crookshanks playing and thumping happily about with his new maroon string, that maybe ridiculous wasn't such a bad thing after all...


	2. Teas and Tensions

The next morning, Hermione was shaken awake several hours earlier than she would have liked by Ginny Weasley, who beamed at her and plopped down at the foot of the bed. Crookshanks leapt into her lap, purring.

"You look exhausted."

"I am," Hermione yawned, stretching and then slumping back against her pillows. "What time is it?"

"Eight," Ginny said, scratching Crookshanks at the base of his tail. "I had to wake you though, breakfast is going to be on the table any minute."

"You should have gotten me up earlier, I would have helped," Hermione said reprovingly.

Ginny shrugged. "You needed the rest, you just got here. How was your first week of the holiday?"

"Uneventful. I just read and played with Crookshanks and waited for Kingsley to come get me. It's a bit funny, really, I'd told them someone from the Order was going to take me and I think they expected someone like Dumbledore, you know. But he had on a pinstriped suit."

"Yeah, I think Dad wants lessons from him," Ginny chortled. "But he'll be back tomorrow night, that's when the next big meeting is. You'll get to hear what's going on for the first time."

"Everyone's using Extendable Ears, then?" Hermione sniffed.

"Yes, Hermione," Ginny said patiently, scratching Crookshanks' ears, "and they're brilliant, just wait and see. I'd think that you of all people would care about what's happening, with Harry still stuck in Little Whinging –"

"Of course I care," said Hermione, hurt. "But your Mum's been so nice, inviting me to stay, and I hate to think I'm abusing her trust..."

"I know what you mean, but it's for the greater good Hermione," Ginny said wisely. "She still thinks we're children. This is our fight too, we deserve to know what's happening. And I'm worried about Harry... he's probably going mad under lock and key up there..."

"I know he is. He sent me Hedwig last Saturday asking for information and I just don't know if I should say anything –"

"I'd wait 'til you get a chance to talk to Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."

"All right," Hermione said, rather distressed. "I just hate keeping him in the dark, Ginny, it's not fair."

"Trust me, I understand," she said sadly. "But come on, let's go before the eggs get cold and Mum swoops down on us..."

They trooped into the basement kitchen ten minutes later, where an assortment of people was clustered around a scrubbed wooden table. Sirius and Lupin both stood up, smiling, and shook Hermione's hand in greeting.

"Got a few people for you to meet," Lupin said, gesturing to a dark-haired witch on his left. "This is Hestia Jones... Hestia, this is Hermione..."

"Nice to meet you," said Hestia Jones, grasping Hermione's hand warmly. "We've heard a lot about you from the Weasleys."

Hermione smiled back and turned to the witch on Lupin's right, who had bounced out of her chair excitedly.

"Wotcher, Hermione," she said, grinning. Her face was heart-shaped and cheerful under a shockingly pink head of hair.

"Hermione, this is Tonks," Lupin said. "She's an Auror."

"An Auror?" Hermione said admiringly, shaking Tonks' hand as well. "That's brilliant."

Tonks blushed.

"And of course you already know Professor McGonagall."

Hermione gave a little jump of surprise, noticing for the first time the witch at the head of the table. "Oh! Hello, Professor."

"Good morning Miss Granger," said McGonagall briskly. "Very nice to see you. And Remus," she continued, peering down at her newspaper, "how many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Minerva now. It's alright, I won't put you in detention."

It was Lupin's turn to blush.

"Old habits die hard you know," McGonagall said to Hermione, who though she spotted a twinkle in her eyes behind her square spectacles.

Hermione and Ginny grinned. Hermione sat down next to Tonks, who pushed a cup of tea towards her.

McGonagall tutted, closed the _Daily Prophet_ with a snapping of paper, and stood up to her full height and pulled on her cloak. "This," she said, pointing at it with distaste _,_ "is utter rubbish. If I read one more slip implying that Potter is some kind of – some kind of _convict_ –"

Sirius put his hand to his heart, looking wounded. "What's wrong with convicts?"

McGonagall tutted again, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"That's what they're doing?" Hermione said weakly, putting her tea down. "They're making him into... into some kind of maniac?"

"I'm afraid so, Miss Granger," said McGonagall in clipped tones. "What I wouldn't give to turn Fudge into a flobberworm. Or perhaps a Sneakoscope, then he might be of use to someone..."

"I think we'd all support you in that, Prof– I mean, Minerva," Sirius said hastily.

"Yes," said McGonagall tartly. "Sadly, Dumbledore won't allow it. In any case, I'm on guard duty for the morning, so good day to you all."

And in a swirl of tartan, she strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the main hall. They heard her Disapparate just outside the front door with a loud crack.

"What a woman," said Sirius wonderingly, while everyone else laughed.

 _CRACK._

"Damn, did we miss her?" Fred said disappointedly, looking around. "I like to hear her talk about the Ministry officials..."

George, spotting Hermione's tea that she'd spilt all over the table, shook his head. "You're supposed to _drink_ it, Hermione."

"I _was_ ," she said angrily, "'til the two of you made me jump –"

"It's fine," Fred said, waving his wand. The tea on the table vanished. He directed his wand at her teacup.

"D'you want milk in it?"

She scowled at him.

"What?" he said indignantly.

"Yes," she said, crossing her arms. "I would. But just a little. And one spoon of sugar."

He twitched his wand and a stream of dark toffee-colored liquid streamed from the tip, arcing across and room and splashing neatly into the cup.

Hermione uncrossed her arms in spite of herself and pulled it towards her as Fred stowed his wand in his back pocket and rubbed his hands together.

"So? What's happening today? Anything exciting for you lot?" he asked the adults.

"I've actually got to go to work," Tonks said dully, pushing her chair back. "I'd rather stay here, but duty calls, you know..."

"I'd be happy to switch," Sirius said glumly. "I'll go hunt Death Eaters for the day and you can get rid of the pixie infestation in the upstairs bedroom and dust all the crystal –"

"Yes, Scrimgeour would love that. I'm sure you'd be a great help to the Ministry," said Tonks, standing up and stretching. "They're desperate for any news on Sirius Black's whereabouts, you see, anyone at all with information is encouraged to come forward – oh no, sorry!"

In swinging her cloak around to put it on, she'd knocked over Hermione's tea again.

"I'm really sorry Hermione," Tonks said despairingly, rummaging in the folds of her robes for her wand. "I'm a bit of a barmpot, the rest of them can tell you..."

"It's okay," Hermione reassured her, gingerly righting the now-empty cup as Tonks hovered apologetically. "Really, it's fine, don't worry about it."

Fred dropped into the seat next to Hermione that Tonks had just vacated and once again directed his wand at the table. The tea vanished from the wood, and with another flick, he filled Hermione's cup again.

"Oh, I wanted to do that, Fred!"

"Dora, stop fretting, it's alright," said Hestia, who also rose. "I should really be going too, I expect Alastor'll murder me if I'm late again. I'll go out with you."

"Alright," Tonks said despairingly. "You can make sure I don't knock over the umbrella stand, anyhow... Goodbye, everyone."

There was a chorus of farewells and Tonks and Hestia left the way McGonagall had gone.

"Well, that wasn't much of a visit," said Lupin, looking slightly abashed. "I had hoped they would have been able to stay and talk... but you know," he said, smiling wanly at Ginny and Hermione, "we need our women more desperately than ever in these troubled times."

Sirius nodded assent and gloomily buttered himself a piece of toast.

"Anyway," George said brightly, sitting down next to Ginny and helping himself to some toast as well, "Sirius, mate, did you say there's a pixie nest upstairs?"

"Yes, and I think your mother wants you to clear it out this morning. I'd take these two with you," he indicated Hermione and Ginny. "It's tricky work, pixie catching."

"Oh, I know," Hermione said darkly, sipping her tea. She had to admit it was exactly how she liked it. "Harry, Ron, and I had to recapture a whole roomful of them a couple years ago. It took ages, and it was _maddening_."

"You'll be an expert then," Fred told her. "Where _is_ Mum, anyway?"

"Oh, she went to Diagon Alley as soon as she'd finished making breakfast," Lupin said. "I don't know what for, but some kind of cleaning supplies, I'd imagine... she said yesterday she needed to get some doxy spray."

"We need some Mrs. Skower's Mess Remover as well, so Hermione can put her things away. Her dresser still has slug slime all over it," Fred said thoughtfully. "I hope Mum remembers. If she doesn't, we can always go get some tomorrow..."

"Oh, that's alright," Hermione said quickly. "I can just keep it all in the bag, I don't mind."

"Don't be silly," Fred said airily. "We'll take care of it."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Sirius said, glancing at her. "I know it's not the most hospitable place to spend your summer."

"Oh no!" she said earnestly, putting down her cup. "No, Sirius, I'm glad to be here, I want to help."

He smiled at her gratefully but she still thought he looked rather pained, as if it cost him a conscious effort.

"Remus," George said conscientiously, "have a bit of toast or something. You look like you haven't had a good meal in a couple of moons."

"George!" Ginny said reproachfully, "don't –"

"No, it's alright, Ginny," Lupin said, smiling slightly. "You're right George, I haven't. But I've looked worse. And I'll pass on the toast, I'm, ah –" he grimaced, "on a bit of a diet at the moment."

"Diet?"

"Red meat," Lupin said, smiling weakly. "Very red. It's not exactly appetizing, but it's what's safest for now."

George, Fred, Ginny, and Hermione exchanged glances, but no one wanted to press the subject, so they finished breakfast in a companionable silence filled only by the munching of toast and the clinking of china.

"I tell you, Ron's lucky that Mum's not back yet," George yawned, setting down his napkin. "I wouldn't fancy the idea of her getting back and finding me having a lie-in."

"I'll get him up," Ginny declared. "Let's all head upstairs together, shall we?"

"Yeah, alright," Fred agreed. "Sirius, Remus, d'you need any help...?"

"We're fine here," Lupin said, waving them on. "We'll clean up, and then Snuffles here and I have plenty of things to discuss... catch up on, you know..."

"Blimey, neither of them look very happy, do they?" Fred observed as the four of them climbed the stairs. "I reckon they could do with some cheering up."

"Well you see, Fred," Ginny said very seriously, "the Dark Lord was reborn this past month, Lupin's being ostracized worse than ever, and Sirius can't leave the house even though his godson's in constant moral peril, so I'd expect you're able to see why they're not exactly chuffed."

"No, I have to say I don't see it," Fred mused while George roared with laughter.

"Don't," Hermione said, annoyed. "Don't, I know they're having a terrible time of it –"

"I know, Hermione," Fred said earnestly, "but if you don't try to laugh at the terrible parts too, there's not much of a point to laughing at all."

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm worried about the whole lot of them. What is it that they're guarding, anyway? On guard duty?"

"We're not sure," Ginny answered. "It might be an object, might be a place. We haven't heard them mention it on the Ears but maybe it'll come up tomorrow night."

They had reached the second landing, and Fred stopped in front of Hermione's door.

"Let's get your bag, shall we?"

"Oh, alright," Hermione agreed. "But I don't need to unpack everything, I'll keep a few things in my room."

"Just take out what you need and we'll take the rest up to our room."

"I'm going to rouse Ronald," Ginny announced, and marched across the landing to the door that snores were issuing from under.

When Hermione emerged from her room, having left a small pile of clothes on her bed, Ron was awake and upright, looking distinctly disgruntled and rumpled in his maroon pajamas.

"You d-i-i-idn't need to wake me up, Ginny," he yawned. "I was a-about to get up myself anyway."

"Humph. Right," Ginny snorted. "There's toast and eggs downstairs, when you've dressed."

Ron eyed them blearily. "What are you all doing then?"

"Clearing out a pixie infestation," Hermione answered. "I think the four of us can handle it if you'd like to avoid round two –"

"Bloody hell, I almost forgot," Ron said, closing his eyes reminiscently. "They hung Neville on the ceiling, didn't they?"

"Yes, they did."

Ron opened one eye a crack. "Quite a year that was, wasn't it?"

"Speak for yourself," snapped Ginny. "When Mum gets back you can clean out Hermione's dresser, Ron, there's slug slime on the wood."

"A-a-as long as I get some kippers first," Ron said, and shuffled back into his room. They heard the wardrobe open with a _clunk,_ and Pigwidgeon twittering madly.

"Come on," said George, and they continued their ascent to the third floor.

The higher they went into the house the gloomier it got, and Hermione felt quite glad that she was staying relatively close to the ground level. The house seemed perpetrated with a kind of musty darkness that traveled right up the walls to the high ceilings.

"This is our room," Fred said, pointing. "And that one, across the hall, is where the pixies are. We should get started, let's just put your things away first, Hermione..."

Ginny and George started a lively argument about the best way to deal with the nest as Hermione followed Fred into a handsome room slightly larger than her own, with two beds instead of one and a chandelier that would have been spectacular if it wasn't so covered in dust.

"Cheery place, isn't it?" said Fred, seeing her looking around. "It's no wonder McGonagall is worried about Sirius, I know _I_ wouldn't want to be trapped in here..."

"It's eerie," Hermione agreed timidly.

The wardrobe was in the back left corner, next to one of the beds, and its mirrored doors bore the same recently cleaned look as the chandelier downstairs. Hermione gazed at their fuzzy reflections, Fred's hair looking especially flaming red in their washed-out surroundings before he swung it open with a creaky squeal.

"Here just hand me your bag – I'll put your things in these two bottom drawers here – no slug slime to speak of, as far as I know, anyway."

"Fred," Hermione said, half disapproving, half worried.

"Only joking," Fred grinned, and took out the neat stacks of Hermione's robes one by one to layer tidily in the drawers.

As he arranged her things they fell into a silence that Hermione couldn't tell if she should interpret as comfortable or awkward, and in her determination to focus on something other than that, found herself watching his hands. They were solid but long-fingered, and several small burns could be seen, pink and shiny against the light dusting of freckles on his wrists. He had a scrape on one of his knuckles, and she could see the tendons under the skin tighten slightly as he creased one of the folds in her robes.

Hermione very much forgot what she was doing and so when he turned and stood up with the now empty bag in his hands, she didn't move quickly enough, and they bumped into each other. To her consternation, she could feel a flush creeping up her face.

"Oh – I – sorry –"

Fred just chuckled as she leapt backwards. "Really, Hermione, you're as bad as Tonks."

She made an indignant noise, hoping her cheeks weren't pink. "I'm not usually clumsy, and you're the one that bumped into _me_ –"

"Clumsy?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I just meant don't apologize."

She looked at him for a moment with her mouth slightly open, swallowing the rest of her scolding, and Fred grinned broadly and slipped past her.

She huffed again but followed him, smiling in spite of herself, and wondering if pixie-catching may not be as maddening the second time around, all things considered.


	3. Wraiths, Rust, and Pixie Dust

As soon as the four of them entered the room, a loud buzzing filled their ears. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, I don't like the sound of that."

"I don't like the look _or_ the sound," Ginny agreed.

The room was much like the rest of what Hermione had already seen – gray, gloomy, and dusty. The ceiling was high, and up in one corner opposite from the bed there hung from the ceiling a faintly sparkling mass that she recognized from _Magical Species and Sprites of Cornwall_. Like a great wasps nest, it glittered gold in the dim light, and one electric blue pixie head was just visible poking out of the bottom.

"Right," said George, hefting a large wrought iron cage. "This is what mum left us to stuff them in, I reckon it'll do. I don't fancy putting my hands on them though, I've heard they're awfully strong little buggers."

"They are," Hermione agreed. "Cornish pixies can lift up to sixty times their own weight, you know. I remember them hanging Neville on the candelabra second year."

"No, I didn't know," said Ginny, while Fred laughed.

"Well, anyway," said George, "Fred and I can use magic, at least, so that'll help. You two, though, I think brooms are going to be your best bet."

"Damn." Ginny frowned. "I forgot we can't use magic."

"Brooms?" Hermione asked incredulously. "What, we're supposed to _bat_ them?"

The pixie nest seemed to buzz louder at these words.

"It won't hurt them," Fred said bracingly. "Like you said, they're tough. We'll try to help you, eh, George?"

George nodded, unlatching the cage and setting it on the handsome but dusty teak nightstand. "It's like de-gnoming a garden, don't worry about the pixies."

Ginny threw her hair over her shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

Fred raised his wand and flicked it. " _Accio_ Bluebottles."

There was a whistling sound, and a few seconds later two dusty brooms sailed through the door and came to hang, still, in the air next to Hermione and Ginny. Hermione thought she could see her broom quivering, like it hadn't been ridden in ages and was eager to please whoever had brought it out of its grim closet. She thought of what Harry would say about broom maltreatment, and her heart panged.

The pixie nest was definitely buzzing louder now. A few had come out of the nest to see what all the commotion was, and Hermione could see a pair of them chattering to each other. One darted abruptly back into the entrance, and at this, Fred raised his wand to the door.

" _Colloportus_!"

It slammed shut and locked. Fred moved to stand in front of it, wand held aloft. George moved to stand by the cage.

"Bat this way," he advised.

Hermione grabbed her broom out of the air and gripped the handle, eyeing the nest apprehensively, remembering the absolute pandemonium that had overtaken Gilderoy Lockhart's classroom almost three years ago. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder at Fred, only to find him already looking at her. She held his eyes, but she could feel a slight warmth bloom on her cheeks.

"Now, I want a nice clean game, all of you," he said, and winked at her again. She had just noticed that despite being a light orange, his eyelashes were uncommonly thick, when there was a loud _WHUSH_ behind her, and she turned to find that George had disintegrated the pixie nest into a cloud of dust and sparkles.

The sound was like a thousand hornets filling the room, and out of the dust they came soaring. They got to Ginny first, and out of the corner of her eye Hermione could see her take a swing at them like the broom was a baseball bat. Three pixies, knocked off-kilter, soared across the room towards George. How exactly he dealt with them Hermione didn't see, because she had her own problems to deal with.

She had a brief moment to size up the four pixies flying towards her, take aim, and swing. She felt the flat of the broom connect, and two pixies went in the direction of the cage, while one was merely knocked to the ground, befuddled. As she watched, George zoomed the three towards himself and directed them into the cage. In fact, George seemed to be acting as a human magnet, summoning charms flying from his wand and ensnaring pixies in every which way. However, she noticed that they didn't always work; some of the heftier pixies were able to fly out of the pull.

She also realized what had become of the fourth pixie as she felt a sharp tug on the back of her head.

"Ouch!"

Scowling, she spun around to try and find it, but no sooner had she turned than five more flew towards her.

Meanwhile, the once-handsome bedroom was undergoing its own siege. There had to be at least fifty pixies, Hermione thought, and at least twenty of them were darting about the room, tearing the hangings, riding the chandelier, and upending the writing desk, from which several bottles of ink had already smashed. Setting her jaw and wishing sourly for her wand, Hermione batted away with the Bluebottle, enduring tug after tug on her hair.

Soon they were all sweating. Most of the smaller pixies had been rounded up, but fifteen or so of the older, hardier variety were still flitting around the room.

"Got anything better than a Summoning Charm, George?" Ginny called, dancing around to keep her hair out of a pixie's reach.

"Nothing that'd work from this vantage point," he yelled back. A particularly irritating pixie was prancing around him with its tongue out. "Fred?"

" _Ouch!_ " Hermione whipped around and batted with her broom, just missing the pixie continuously assaulting her hair. It had just stuck its thumbs in its ears when Fred pointed his wand.

" _Medio Exime!_ "

Her hair blew straight back in a powerful blast of wind, and the pixie rocketed helplessly across the room on a beam of blue-white light, where George snatched it out of the air.

"Brilliant!" she panted, massaging her scalp tenderly.

"Much better than a summoning charm," George concluded, sticking his wand in his back pocket. "C'mere Ginny, Hermione."

They joined him by the nightstand, and Fred shot pixies across the room at them in great gusts for the next fifteen minutes until every last one had been caught.

" _Finally!_ " George panted, slamming the cage shut. " _Colloportus_."

The small padlock glowed briefly white and then faded, locking the pixies securely inside, all of them clamoring like a bunch of budgies.

Fred walked over from the door, pushing his hair, dark red with sweat, off his forehead. Wand in his fist, he leaned down to have a look, where he was promptly greeted by a blown raspberry.

"Blimey, they're like tiny little Peeves, aren't they?" he said grimly. "They'd be rather cute little imps if they weren't so ornery."

"I think we wore them out, though," Hermione said, watching some of the younger, smaller pixies sit down on the floor of the cage. "They'll have to rest soon if they want to be able to fly much for the rest of the day. I think Ginny and I knocked a rather lot of pixie dust off of them."

"Definitely," George said, catching Fred's eye. Hermione narrowed her own, but before she could say anything, Ginny broke in.

"Blimey, that was harder than I thought it'd be. D'you reckon mum is back yet? I could go for lunch."

"I think it's too early for that," Fred said, sticking his wand in his pocket. "Give it another hour. We should probably get cleaned up anyway, we all look like we've just endured a rather brutal Quidditch practice."

"Yeah, well, get ready, because I doubt that Angelina's going to be much better than Wood," George said darkly, hoisting the cage off of the nightstand.

"Oh, is she Captain this year?" Ginny asked happily. "That's wonderful to hear."

"Yes, well, we'll see," said Fred. "I expect to be worked like a carthorse, but maybe it'll be good for me. It's our last year, after all. Why should anything change now?" He directed his wand at the door. " _Alohamora_."

It sprung open. Hermione stopped and looked around the room. The spilled ink had soaked into the fine carpet, the torn curtains were hanging asunder, and the room generally looked like a bull elephant had been set loose within it. A golden dust was settling out of the air, covering the chaos in a fine layer of glitter.

"Shouldn't we clean up? Even if we did take care of the nest, I doubt your mum will be too pleased if we leave it in this state –"

"George and I can come back up and get it after lunch. Mum'll probably have something else for the two of you anyway."

She nodded reluctantly, and the four of them turned and trooped down the stairs.

As they descended, George holding tightly to the lightly humming cage, a thought occurred to Hermione.

She turned to Fred, who was walking beside her. "Where'd that spell come from, anyway? I've never heard of _exime_ being used with that companion article."

"What, back there?" he shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "Made it up."

She furrowed her brow. "Made it up? Just then?"

"Yes, Hermione," he said, one corner of his mouth turned up in his familiar, mischievous half-smile. "Don't tell me you've never invented a spell, a clever witch like yourself."

She blushed and opened her mouth, but he just laughed. "You should try it. You'd be brilliant at it."

It was Hermione's initial instinct to ask Fred if he had read _Hex Creation and Its Hazards_ , or heard of Edgardo Aiza, the nineteenth century wizard who had been experimenting and accidentally turned himself into a rock. Something stopped her, however, and she swallowed the lecture in her throat with a firm resolve to deliver it some other time, some other time when he hadn't just called her brilliant.

Dinner that night was a crowded affair. In addition to the six Weasleys and Hermione, Kingsley, McGonagall, Lupin, Sirius, Tonks, Hestia Jones, and two other Order members, introduced as Emmeline Vance and Sturgis Podmore , had all squeezed in around the scrubbed wooden table in the basement. Mrs. Weasley had made several large shepherd's pies that were passed eagerly around. It had been a dreary day outside the walls of Grimmauld Place, and anyone that had been on duty had come in with a damp cloak and wet feet.

It was very strange, Hermione thought, dishing herself out some potatoes, to be sitting around a table with one current professor, one former professor, the Ministry's most wanted, and half a dozen Ministry workers. It was even stranger to know that so many competent people were still working under Fudge, and it was just that that the conversation turned to as they ate.

"We did wonder for a bit about the Imperius Curse, but Mad-Eye and Dumbledore agree that that's not very likely," Kingsley was saying. "Fudge seems determined to close his eyes."

"It's ridiculous," Emmeline Vance sniffed. "Have any of you been reading the _Daily Prophet_?"

Professor McGonagall made a noise like the hiss of an angry cat. "Oh, yes. We were just talking about that this morning. A shameful attempt to discredit Potter. Cowardly, in fact."

"Yes," Kingsley agreed glumly, "but it's working. People don't _want_ to believe he's back, Minerva. It's much easier to accept that Harry's head has gotten a little too big than to face what it would mean if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned."

McGonagall tutted loudly, and Sirius shook his head.

Fred, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until that point, spoke up from Hermione's right.

"He's been back for weeks now. How come we haven't seen any strange deaths, or heard of anybody disappearing?"

Ginny, from across the table, caught Hermione's eye and glanced at Mrs. Weasley. Her face, Hermione saw, had become wooden, and she was chewing extremely slowly, her eyes fixed on Fred.

"He's laying low," Lupin answered. Hermione noticed for the first time that he alone wasn't eating anything. "For right now, he's operating in secrecy. Unfortunately for him, the people that _do_ know he's back is the group that did the most against him last time."

"Wouldn't it be better, though, if the entire wizarding world knew to be on the lookout? If the Ministry was doing its job and spreading information instead of making it sound like Harry's gone 'round the twist?"

"Of course it would be," Lupin said earnestly, "but right now it's all we've got. And better the Order and Dumbledore know than anyone else, we've got information that others don't, about what his plans are, what he's after –"

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and stood up, snatching the flagon off the table in front of her.

"More pumpkin juice, anyone?"

Her point was made; after Hestia's glass was refilled, Lupin said no more.

"It's too bad, really," Ron said later, as they washed the dishes. "I really think Sirius and Lupin would give us a lot more information if it wasn't for mum."

"Don't worry too much about it, little brother," said George, directing the dried plates back into the cupboard with his wand. "We'll find out more tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" Hermione asked.

"First big Order meeting since you've gotten here," said Fred, leaning down conspiratorially, up to his elbows in soap suds. "Dumbledore, Snape, Mad-Eye, they're all going to be here. Oh, and you'll get to meet Mundungus. Definitely going to break out the Ears."

"I don't think it's right," she said reprovingly. "Obviously, your mum doesn't want us having details for a reason –"

"It's beyond details, Hermione," Ginny said earnestly, while Ron nodded. "If she had it her way, we wouldn't know anything. Why that is, I don't know, but you deserve to know what's going on."

"I don't like betraying her trust," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "She's having me here for the summer with all of you, I'd hate to jeopardize that."

"Hermione," Fred said, frowning, "no one wants you to jeopardize that, but she's got to realize that this is our fight too, and we all want to know what's going on. And I _know_ that you do too, even if you don't admit it."

"I do admit it!" she said, stung. "I just think we should be very cautious."

"We will be," Fred promised. "And if she does bust us, George and I will take the blame, won't we?"

"Definitely," George agreed. "We're very desensitized to mum's yelling by now."

"Kind of you," Ron yawned, shelving the last goblet and closing the cupboard. "Ready to turn in?"

"We'll take the blame off of _Hermione_ ", Fred corrected him delicately. "Never said anything about you. But yes, it's that time of night. Shall we go up together?"

The adults were still in the basement kitchen as they trudged up the stairs. The elf heads looked even eerier than before, cutting strange shadows on the wall. Hermione shuddered and looked at the ground instead.

When they reached the second landing, Crookshanks came tumbling out of her room, pawing at his string, and batted it at Fred's feet, who beamed.

"Ruddy brilliant, aren't you?" he asked, squatting down on his heels to roll the spool across the floor. "Look at him go."

Crookshanks had pounced artfully, tossing it up into the air.

George laughed. "We should tell mum to set him loose on the doxies."

"You should take him in your room with you tonight, though, Hermione," Ron said seriously. "And I forgot to ask, but did you close your door at night?"

"Yes," she said bemusedly. "Why?"

"Kreacher," he said grimly. "Haven't met him yet, have you? Trust me, he's a right little horror, you don't want to wake up to him prowling around your room."

Hermione rolled her eyes, catching Crookshanks as he leapt into her arms. "You could be a little kinder, Ron."

Fred shook his head. "He's right Hermione, you should lock it, although I'm pretty sure Crookshanks could look after himself if you wanted to leave him to roam about."

"He can stay with me tonight," she decided, scratching the gingery tufts behind his ears.

"Let me know if you need another trinket, won't you?" Fred said to the cat, who looked up at him with benevolent yellow eyes and gave a deep throaty purr. He grinned and had reached out to stroke his back when Hermione noticed something.

"You're all sparkly, Fred, what –" she trailed off, brushing her fingers along his arm.

He looked up at her very fast, and their eyes met for a split second that felt like much, much longer.

They both drew their hands back quickly, and she was half-aware of him taking a step backwards, looking very awkward, his hand moving seemingly unconsciously to the place her fingers had just been.

"Well, goodnight," said Ginny. Hermione hoped that she was imagining the eyebrow raise in her friend's voice.

"Goodnight, you lot." She smiled at them and then quickly stepped over the threshold and closed the door, throwing the deadbolt.

She let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and let Crookshanks spring out of her arms and onto the floor. She was very sure of several things all at once. One, Fred had gone back to the upstairs bedroom, and he and George had done more with that pixie dust than just clean it up, which they could have done with a wave of their wands. Secondly, making eye contact with him at such close proximity had definitely made her stomach leap in a way that was rather alarming. And thirdly, her fingertips were tingling where she had touched his skin.

"It's the pixie dust," she told herself firmly as she turned down her bedcovers. "It's the pixie dust."

She made a mental note to look up the effects of pixie dust in the morning, because, she reluctantly admitted to herself as she turned out the light, she wasn't sure that tingling was one of them.


	4. Strawberry Blond, Mint Chocolate

The next morning dawned sunny and breezy, and found Hermione cross-legged on her bed leafing through i _Magical Species and Sprites of Cornwall_ , curled up next to her on the coverlet, was purring loudly as she scratched behind his ears and ran her finger down the page.

"This is where it should be, Crookshanks, look..."

 _ **A Brief Summary of Pixie Dust and Its Properties**_

 _One of the most well-known magical substances in our world is a secretion known as pixie dust. Found as a light coating on the skin of the Cornish pixie as well as in a varied form on some of its Egyptian and Pacific cousins, pixie dust's reputation has gone as far as to permeate even the Muggle vernacular. Although their information on its effects is erroneous, the term is found in multiple Muggle "fairy tales" and other cultural cornerstones, and the general perception of the substance is correct. It can be either ingested or applied externally, and its effects can include an upswing in mood, enhanced creativity, and vivid dreams. However, if used in mass quantities, it can cause feelings of weightlessness, giddiness, and even hallucinations, not dissimilar to /i_ Cannabis sativai _of the Rosales order. Pixie dust is known in the wizarding world for being one of Scamander's seven uplifting substances as well as its use in the extremely complex but wonderfully inventive potion Felix Felicis._

Hermione fingered the page thoughtfully. "No tingling to be had, Crookshanks!" She looked at him ruefully, and he stared back at her, his squashed face somehow mischievously knowing.

"Alright, alright," she said, closing the book. "Let's see what Mrs. Weasley has in store for me today."

She dressed quietly and crossed the landing, toothbrush in hand. It was barely past eight, but pale morning sunshine was already warming the faded carpet in the hall. Ron's door was still shut tight, and she could hear his soft snores from within.

Hermione stared at the snake-shaped tap as she brushed her teeth, thinking once again of Harry, and resolving to write to him as soon as she had spoken to Dumbledore – with any luck, by the end of the evening. Almost a week of her stay at Grimmauld Place had passed already; she was surprised she had not yet seen Hedwig tapping at the picture window.

Downstairs in the kitchen, as usual, there were already several people seated at the table. This morning it was Fred, George, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Sirius.

"Good morning, Hermione," said Mrs. Weasley, getting up immediately. "Do you want anything, dear? Tea? Pumpkin juice?"

"Oh, just tea please."

Before Mrs. Weasley, who was pulling a chair out for Hermione, could move towards the cupboard, Fred picked his wand up from the table.

"I've got it, mum." He took aim and a teacup zoomed out over their heads, landing in front of him just in time to catch the steaming stream of tea pouring from his wand.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to use your wand for everything, Fred!" Mrs. Weasley said crossly, retrieving the pumpkin juice flagon from the ice box.

"But mum," he said earnestly, pushing the tea towards Hermione, "how else will I practice? I wish McGonagall was here, she'd support me working on my Conjuring..."

Mrs. Weasley just tutted loudly as George and Tonks laughed.

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly. "Your Conjuring is well-executed."

Fred smiled at her in surprise, stowing his wand in his jeans. "Almost as good as a compliment from McGonagall!"

Hermione felt herself blush, even as she shook her head and sipped her tea.

"Where's Ron? And Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "I need the five of you together so I can let you know what we've got to do today..."

"I'm right here, Mum," came Ginny's voice from just beyond the doorway. A moment later she appeared in it, her long red hair plaited down her back. "I've just roused Ron, I expect he'll be down in a few minutes."

"Good, thank you," said Mrs. Weasely, pulling out a frying pan. "I'll make some eggs, shall I?"

Soon the kitchen was filled with the sizzling of breakfast. Ron ambled in a few minutes later, his hair stuck up on the right side of his head.

"M-morning all," he yawned, pulling out a chair. "Mum, I think there might be a chizpurfle infestation in my room, those fur coats in the wardrobe keep humming and the clock keeps going mad at random times."

"There probably is, I think Buckbeak might have them too," Sirius said grimly. "He's been fussing over his horse end much more than usual lately…"

Ron snorted, and Mrs. Weasley poked her wand at the frying pan, looking a bit harassed. "Alright, well, add that to the list, I suppose. Are we all here?"

Ascertaining that they were, she slid the eggs and some breakfast sausage onto several plates, which settled themselves along the table with gentle thumps.

"Thanks, Molly," said Tonks, who had dark circles under her eyes. "Is there any coffee?"

"I'll get it," said Sirius, standing up with the air of someone longing for something to do. "Why don't you sit down, Molly? Have something to eat yourself."

"Well, alright," said Mrs. Weasley, pulling up a chair somewhat reluctantly. "Put it in the copper kettle, not the silver, Sirius, we still need to clean that."

Sirius grunted, his head halfway in the cupboard above the sink.

"Right," said Mrs. Weasley, taking a drink of pumpkin juice and pulling a list out of her pocket. "The entire Order will be here tonight so we just need to get some loose ends tied up, I don't want to tackle anything that's going to take until the stroke of midnight."

"For once," muttered Ron into his toast.

"Don't complain so much, Ron, I'm not asking you to risk your life or stay up the whole night like Tonks and Kingsley," Mrs. Weasley snapped, while Tonks waved her comment off, looking uncomfortable.

"Just a joke, Mum," said George. "Go on, General, set us our labor."

"Ginny, I want you to tackle the curtains and lamps down here. Beat out the fabric, and get as much of the dust and cobwebs off of the fixtures as you can. Ron, I want you to take care of all the linens on the third floor, I don't know if anyone extra is going to be staying over tonight, and I want there to be clean beds available."

"Alright, mum," Ron conceded somewhat apologetically, corralling sausage onto his fork. "No problem."

"George, I want you to take care of the silver here in the kitchen. Wash it, sanitize it, and dry it. I'm sure everyone's going to be hungry tonight and we'll need more than the rotation of six clean plates we've been running. And last, Fred and Hermione, I need the two of you to go to Diagon Alley and pick up some things for me, I've a list for you here."

Hermione gave a little choke over her tea, but George was already protesting.

"What? How come they get to go to Diagon Alley, I'll take that over silver any day! Mum, why can't I go with them?"

"Because," Mrs. Weasley said severely, "if I send you and your brother together, you're more likely to bring me back some kind of… I don't know, ashwinder eggs or shrunken heads or something than you are chizpurfle repellent." She brandished the list at him threateningly. "Just be glad I'm not asking you to polish it, too."

"Ashwinder?" George said despairingly. "What, we're slipping people love potions now?"

At these words, Hermione could very vividly recall the year before in which Fred and George had evidently had absolutely no problem with turning people into giant canaries on the sly, but thought it might be more prudent not to mention this just now, as Mrs. Weasley was already swelling with irritation.

Fred, who had yet to say anything, shot his brother a 'drop it now' look. "It's fine, Mum. We'll take care of it."

"I'm counting on you to keep him under control," said Mrs. Weasley, with a pointed look at Hermione.

Hermione could feel herself blushing again, and, infuriated with herself, opened her mouth to respond, but the door of the kitchen creaked open before she could.

The oldest, dirtiest house elf she had ever seen had slunk through the doorway, dressed only in what seemed to be a very dirty loincloth.

"Blood traitors, bringing shame to my poor Mistress's house, eating and drinking out of the family silver, what would she say…?"

"Good morning, Kreacher," George said loudly.

The house elf bowed, eyeing George with deepest loathing, and continued muttering as if they could not hear him.

"No 'good morning' can it be when there are blood traitor brats in my Mistress's kitchen, oh no…"

Hermione, rather alarmed, shot a glance at Ron. Ron, his mouth full of egg, shrugged and rolled his eyes, twirling a finger around his temple as if to say, 'he's lost it.'

Hermione now saw the house elf's rather bloodshot eyes fall on her and widen, the nostrils of his snout-like nose flaring. "And now there's a new girl, Kreacher hasn't seen her before, not a blood traitor like the other one, no indeed, it's a mudblood in the House of Black, oh, the shame…"

"I don't care for that word, Kreacher," said Sirius loudly, thumping the coffee pot onto the table.

Tonks murmured thanks, but Sirius hardly seemed to notice. It was clear that from the way he was eyeing him that Sirius detested Kreacher quite as much as the elf obviously detested him.

"My apologies, Master," Kreacher croaked, before continuing to mutter at the same volume, "the shame, the shame, my poor Mistress, what would she say?"

Everyone, including the elf, jumped as Fred abruptly pushed his chair back, the legs scraping on the flagstones of the kitchen floor. He had an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"Come on, Hermione. Let's go."

Hermione, having almost finished her tea and with no desire to continue to hear herself insulted as if she wasn't there, stood up as well, glancing at him.

Mrs. Weasley pushed the list and an old, battered leather purse at him across the table. "Here, Fred. That should be enough for what we need."

He nodded, pocketing it, and with one last distasteful look at Kreacher, strode out of the room.

Taking a moment to down the rest of her tea and compose herself, Hermione gave herself a brief mental shake. With a wave to the others and a brave effort to ignore the butterflies beginning in her stomach, she followed Fred out of the room.

He was waiting for her in the entrance hall with his arms crossed, standing half in the sole beam of dusty sunlight coming in through the upstairs picture window. It fell across his face, shining off of the darker and lighter strands of his hair, deep auburn red to strawberry blond, and throwing his profile into sharp relief as he turned his head towards her.

"Sorry," he said, his expression much softer than it had been moments before. "I just can't stand that bollocks."

Hermione shrugged, studying his face. "It's not like you've got anything to apologize for. Don't worry about it, Fred, I doubt he knows what he's saying, he's so old…"

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I think he does, but that's beside the point. I'm not alone, Sirius can't stand him either, and I'm quite sure he'd just free him but he knows too much about the Order now." He uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets, and Hermione found herself admiring his nose. It wasn't as long as Ron's but prominent and straight, with its grecian nature undermined by the sprays of freckles across it.

He caught her eye and smiled his half-smile, straightening up. "Come on then, let's get going, shall we?"

She nodded, and he, after hesitating a moment, reached out and patted her shoulder in a reassuring kind of way.

The fact that she had put on a tank top that morning had not been significant to Hermione until this moment, but when Fred's fingers brushed her bare skin she felt that strong, tingling warmth from the night before spread rapidly through her shoulder. Unless it was her imagination, he drew his hand back rather quickly, but the rough callouses on the pads of his fingers scratched her skin lightly as he did. To her consternation, Hermione could feel herself blushing for what felt like the hundredth time in two days.

As they turned to the fireplace and Fred retrieved the Floo powder from the mantle, he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. But then again, she thought mutinously, that might be for the best, since her cheeks needed time to cool off.

To her relief, when her spinning slowed and she toppled onto the hearth of the Leaky Cauldron, there were very few people to see it. It was a weekday, and other than Tom behind the bar, only a couple of the little round tables were occupied. She got to her feet and brushed herself off, shaking some ash out of her hair as Fred came whizzing into view behind her.

Tom waved a greeting to the both of them. "Anything to drink today, young Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger?"

"No thanks, Tom, just Diagon Alley today," Fred replied, patting his pocket where the purse sat. Tom bowed them through, and Hermione followed him into the dumpy little courtyard behind the inn. The sky above them was fast losing its morning paleness, deepening into a cerulean blue, and with a few taps of Fred's wand later, Diagon Alley was opening before them.

The street was less packed than Hermione was used to, having only ever seen it the week before term before, but still just as chattering and sparkling as ever. It was hard not to smile as her eyes fell upon the dear familiar storefronts, and with a glance up at Fred, she saw that he was smiling too. She was doubly glad for her choice in clothing now; the sunshine and warm breeze wrapped around her bare arms and shoulders, and she felt a flood of the happiness that comes with a perfect summer day.

"Do you know, I think I've been shut inside for too long."

He laughed and spread his arms wide, stretching in the sunlight. "I think I have too. Come to think of it, we all have. Mum should come down here some day soon, it might improve her mood."

"Is she alright?" Hermione asked timidly as they set off down the street. "I know she's stressed about the Order and all, but.."

She trailed off, and he looked at her, grimacing. "It's that, and she's worried about Harry, and Sirius, not to mention George and me."

"What's wrong with the two of you?"

"Well, that depends on who you ask," he grinned. "We would say nothing. But she's worried about our futures, you know, wants us to get Ministry jobs like dad, and I think she must know that even after everything that's happened, she hasn't converted us."

"Well, what is it you're aiming to do?" Hermione asked briskly. "You could go into the Department of Magical Games and Sports, you're a brilliant Quidditch player. Or the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, with all that stuff you've enchanted, you'd probably be good at reversing it -"

"Wait, wait," Fred put up his hands in a 'stop everything' gesture. "Can you go back to telling me that you think I'm brilliant at Quidditch? Let's talk about THAT."

"Oh please," Hermione rolled her eyes, but he gave her such a serious look that she couldn't help but laugh.

"Let's not talk about me, Hermione," he waved a hand dismissively, "let's talk about you. You're taking O.W.L.s this year. The time is nigh. What is it that YOU want to do?"

"Oh, I don't know. There are so many choices, aren't there? I really enjoyed Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration, and Arithmancy. And Astronomy too, really. But I haven't thought much about what exactly I'd like to do."

"I'll tell you this much," said Fred, who could not seem to keep his hands still. He was now braiding the strings of the purse with ease. "The world is wide open to you, Hermione. You could do literally anything you wanted to do. So just do something you love, because you're going to be successful either way."

She couldn't help but tut. "You can't know that."

"But I do," he told her, pulling the list from Mrs. Weasley out of his pocket. "Just trust me when it comes to talking about the future. You never were any good at Divination anyway, from what I hear from a certain brother of mine..."

She opened her mouth furiously to retaliate, but he cut her off with a laugh. "I'm kidding, Hermione. KIDDING," he emphasized when she frowned at him. "I'm with you, anyway, Divination is bollocks for anyone that's not a true Seer."

"So you believe that's possible, then?"

"'Course I do, but it's not something that can be taught, all the crystal ball and tea leaf stuff is a bit dodgy. It's a great novelty to people though, very mysterious, and I suppose that's why people take Divination, out of curiosity. I doubt Trelawney is one of the real ones, though, at least from what I heard from Ron."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled wordlessly at him, still skeptical.

He smiled back, brown eyes twinkling mischievously, and she noticed for the first time a slight dimple in his left cheek.

"You're stubborn," Fred observed. It was not a question, but a statement. "Let's get started on this list of mum's, we can go into Magical Menagerie here for chizpurfle repellent."

Hermione, who was feeling the strange and sudden intimacy of walking down Diagon Alley and discussing the future with Fred Weasley, agreed.

Magical Menagerie was just as she remembered it; bright, noisy, and packed with cages of every kind. A bell chimed above the door as they entered, and a young wizard came out from the back, his robes covered in what looked to be cat hair.

"Welcome to Magical Menagerie, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I was wondering if you carry chizpurfle repellent."

"Chizpurfle?" the wizard furrowed his brow. "I think we might, let me check in the back…"

Fred hung by the counter, twisting the strings of the purse, and Hermione allowed herself to drift towards the chittering and glittering walls. One large cage in the corner was humming peculiarly, and upon closer inspection seemed to be full of large, cream-colored balls of fur, rolling around the bottom of the cage and over each other. A small, plated sign next to them read "PUFFSKEINS".

She leaned down for a closer look, and a few puffskeins rolled to the edge of the cage, seemingly queuing up for her attention. Tentatively, she reached one finger through the bars and stroked one of them; its fur was as soft as cashmere, and after a few pets, its eyes closed and a loud, content humming vibrated out from under her fingers.

"What're you looking at, Hermione?"

"Puffskeins. Come look at them, they're so social…"

Fred soon had several puffskeins of his own vying for attention.

"Mine's humming louder than yours."

"He is not," said Hermione indignantly, scratching her puffskein behind its tiny ears.

"He is," Fred insisted, grinning at her. "Better step up your game there, Hermione…"

She tutted loudly again but before she could retort, the young wizard had returned.

"Here you go sir, we did have some…"

Fred tore himself away from his puffskein and went and to collect the orange spray bottle.

"There you go, there are instructions on the back… that'll be seven sickles."

Fred counted out the coins and soon they were stepping back out into the bright sunlight of the street.

"Bloody cute, weren't they?' he said fondly, glancing back at the shop window. "Alright, we'll go to apothecary next, it says here she needs knotgrass and lacewing flies…"

Hermione glanced at him, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Polyjuice potion."

Fred nodded his head in satisfaction. "I think so, yeah. I mean, lacewing flies and knotgrass can be used for a couple of different things but I know for a fact that Tonks dropped off a boomslang skin this morning, and those three things together are hard to mistake."

"D'you know what they're using it for?"

"No," he shrugged, "but it could be anything. I don't know exactly what they're getting up to, none of us do, but I'm sure there's spying involved. And they're always talking about 'guard duty', remember…"

They both fell silent, Hermione sobered by the remembrance of what they were really doing in Grimmauld Place. It was not all about cleaning, and that was alarmingly easy to forget on days like these, in moments like these, arguing over Divination and puffskeins with Fred.

Inside Apothecary, they were able to pick the lacewing flies and knotgrass bundles out of the many bins lining the walls. When they reached the counter, however, Fred had a request.

"Could I also get a tin of ashwinder eggs, please?"

Hermione glanced sharply at him as the witch nodded and reached under the counter, setting a small round container next to the bundles. "These 'ave got a freezing charm on 'em, so don't open it until you're ready to use 'em."

Fred nodded and reached for his back pocket. This time, he didn't take out the leather purse, but a larger brocade one that Hermione hadn't noticed before.

"It'll be seven galleons and four sickles with the ashwinder eggs included."

And Fred, who Hermione had never seen with half that much money before, carefully counted out the coins and slid them across the counter.

"You have a nice day."

Hermione, who was bursting with questions, had just opened her mouth to start asking them when Fred spoke first.

"Don't mention that to mum, would you?"

She didn't quite know what to say, so she just looked at him, biting her lip.

"C'mon, Hermione," he implored, stuffing his own purse back into his pocket. "Say you won't."

"Fred, didn't you JUST buy exactly what she told you not to?"

"Well, technically," Fred said delicately, "she said that it was LIKELY that I would. She never said not to."

Hermione gave him a severe look, and he gave her a wide-eyed gaze back, the picture of innocence.

"Ashwinder eggs," she said slowly. "So you either have ague, which I'm pretty sure I would have noticed by now, or you're brewing something that I'm absolutely SURE your mum wouldn't approve of."

"Oh, go on," he wheedled, and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. "It's not like I'm doing anything ILLEGAL."

She rolled her eyes, inwardly very conscious of the feeling of his warm palm flat against her bare shoulder. He released her a moment later, and she crossed her arms. As much as she may not approve, as suspicious as she might be, there was also no way that she was going to run to Mrs. Weasley and tell on him. She had been many things, but a tattletale was not one of them. Fred knew this, and, she was forced to concede, was going to use it to his advantage.

He smiled broadly at her silence - he knew he'd been victorious, and she made a silent but firm resolve to get him back for this gloating sooner rather than later.

"Only Wiseacre's left now, and," he checked his watch, "it's not even eleven yet. We definitely got the prime deal here, Ron'll be working on those linens into this afternoon, knowing him."

"Not if George finishes first and does it magically."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Can you really see George doing that?"

"No," she admitted.

"No," he agreed. "It builds character, Hermione, doing laundry without magic."

Wiseacre's was a dim but clean shop, full of assorted scales, hourglasses, and maps. Fred made his way over to the household supplies aisle while Hermione wandered towards the books. There were few sights she loved more than that of a fully stocked, antique bookcase.

But this time, after the initial pull of the books, it was something else that grabbed her attention. On top of the shelf among several other dusty curios was a small glass globe marked with gold ancient runes. Drawing closer, she could see within the sphere a three-dimensional sky map, stars and miniature constellations twinkling on a swirling cloud of silver vapor, each marked with tiny gold runes floating beside them.

She picked it up carefully, the dark wooden stand smooth under her fingers. She watched as Aries tilted slightly towards her, the eye of the ram seeming to wink at her.

"What's that?" Fred's interested voice came over her shoulder.

"A runes sky map," Hermione answered, turning it in her hand. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

He bent down next to her and watched interestedly as she turned it, the sparkling clouds twisting and curling. She could feel it when his gaze shifted from the little globe to her face, but she avoided his eyes and instead stared stubbornly at Io's path across the sky.

"I've got mum's stuff," he said, in a rather quieter voice than usual. "Do you want to look around a bit more, or should we go?"

"We can go," she answered, reluctantly reaching up to put the globe back on the shelf. "Did you get the Floo powder, and Miss Skower's, and -"

"Doxy repellent? Yes, Hermione," he said amusedly. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not really," she answered truthfully.

Fred shook his head. "Shameful." He picked the globe back up from where she had set it and examined it carefully. "Don't you have an Astronomy O.W.L. this year?"

"Yes," she answered suspiciously. "And Ancient Runes, at that. Why?"

"We'll go ahead and take this with us too, then," he decided, and turned for the counter with the globe in hand, leaving Hermione to bob after him.

"Oh, no, Fred, it's probably really expensive, you don't have to do that…"

He shrugged her off. "I'd like to. I haven't ever gotten you a proper birthday present, I ought to start making up for lost time. This can be an early one."

She opened her mouth to point out that she'd never gotten him a proper birthday present either, but they'd reached the counter and she was forced to fall silent.

The witch behind the counter wrapped up their things for them and pushed her glasses up her nose. "That'll be ten galleons and two sickles."

And once again, instead of reaching for Mrs. Weasley's purse, Fred pulled out his own and counted out the coins. Hermione bit her lip and looked up at him, but he was avoiding her gaze - she had a sneaking suspicion that he was hoping she wasn't going to ask him the exact question that was burning in her mind. But talking about money was never easy, especially with the Weasleys. As the exited the shop back into the bright sunlight, she decided there was nothing for it.

"Fred -"

But he was already shaking his head, stuffing the purse back into his pocket. "Come off it, Hermione, don't scold me."

"I wasn't going to scold you," she said, hurt. "I was going to thank you. But, I'm worried about you. I'm not going to ask any questions," she said hurriedly, spotting the look on his face. "But if you're doing something illegal, and you get arrested -"

"I'm not doing anything illegal," he said, smiling slightly. "Don't you worry about me. Just don't say anything to my dear mother, like I said, and there'll be no problems."

She looked at him skeptically, feeling deep down that she was quite sure where that money was coming from, and equally sure that Mrs. Weasley would skin the both of them if she found out.

He smiled broadly at her. "Want to get ice cream?"

She looked back wearily, sure they were going to have to have it out about this sooner or later. "As long as there's mint chocolate."

"Oh good, you like it too? George doesn't," Fred said, wrinkling his nose. "He's got no taste." And he marched off towards Florean Fortescue's, leaving Hermione to trail behind him and wonder what kind of conspiracy she'd gotten herself into with him now.


End file.
